The Fallen Woman (A Regency Romance) Read Free

always thought he was a cad, and this proves it. Did he, or did he not, flirt with every single young lady in this room?”
    Leona swayed on her feet, and Silly grabbed her shoulder. “Oh dear…” she murmured. “Oh dear…”
    “What is it?” Silly asked. “You’re not going to swoon on me, are you? You know, Leona, you could do far better than Lord Wintergreen. I told you he was a rake. He’s the worst sort of man. Truly! You could have any man in this room, and you know it. I know Mr. Cotton is infatuated with you… and don’t get me started on Lord Netherdale… or Mr. Quinton… or…”
    Leona wasn’t listening anymore, because everything her friend said was wrong. Leona couldn’t have any man. In fact, no man would have her.
    Not when she was carrying another man’s child.

Chapter Two

    The viscount glared at his friend beneath heavy eyelids. It was too early to have to deal with this.
    “Don’t look at me like that!” Andrew shouted as he pulled back the curtains, inviting light into the viscount’s dreary bedchamber. “It’s not natural to lie around in bed all day, old man. What time is it, anyway? Is it past noon yet?”
    Tristan Nichols, otherwise known as Viscount Randall, narrowed his eyes until they were practically shut. The light through the window was an unwelcome guest—as was Andrew, at the moment. The viscount wanted to pull the blankets over his head and hide, but he thought it would look childish. “There’s nothing wrong with resting,” he blearily offered his own opinion.
    “Until half past noon ?”
    “I don’t see why you’re raising a fuss,” chimed the viscount as his face erupted with a cavernous yawn.
    “Are you ill or something?” Andrew asked. “You’ve locked yourself away in this grand old house. I hardly see you anymore. I’m here because I’m concerned about you. You’re completely wasting your life.”
    The viscount’s cheeks elongated as he suppressed another yawn. “If I choose to idle away in bed all day, it shouldn’t be any of your concern, Andrew. You sound like my mother… or even worse, my old nursemaid. Now, go away.”
    “So you can rest some more?” Andrew asked with a chuckle. “It’s a miracle your blankets haven’t turned into cobwebs.”
    “I’m not resting, I’m… thinking. I’m deep in thought. You should try it sometime.”
    “You were asleep when I got here,” Andrew noted with a sigh. “I can’t imagine you would be having many profound thoughts in your sleep.”
    “My dreams are very elaborate,” the viscount countered sarcastically. “I thought I told you to bugger off.”
    Andrew sat at the end of the bed, leaning against the bedpost. A wicked thought crossed his mind, and his curiosity was begging to be sated. He knew it was none of his business, but he had to ask. “When was the last time you’ve had a woman in here?”
    The viscount groaned.
    Andrew’s brow shot up. “ Never ?”
    “I’m not going to answer that question. A gentleman doesn’t talk about that sort of thing.”
    “Indeed he does… when he’s in the company his oldest and fondest friend!”
    Grumbling, Tristan managed to pull himself into a sitting position. His hair pointed toward the ceiling in a very comical way, and he didn’t bother with rearranging it. “If you really must know, I haven’t been with a woman in nearly eight years. There. Are you satisfied?”
    “Good God, eight years ? No wonder you stay in here all day. I’d be depressed too, if I hadn’t--”
    “I’m not depressed.”
    Ignoring his friend, Andrew went on, “…hadn’t had a woman’s companionship in eight years! I don’t know how you do it! I couldn’t survive without the fairer sex. I can put in a good word with a few pretty young widows, Randall. You need only ask, and I’ll do it.”
    “I don’t want a pretty young widow.”
    “A pretty young wife, then? A chaste young thing? I know several.”
    The viscount laughed. “You make it sound a